


everybody wants you

by smc_27



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: AU, F/M, fame au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28797903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smc_27/pseuds/smc_27
Summary: But he’s always kind of been a coward when it comes to her, and he thinks that’s honestly just because he’s always been so drawn to her that it freaks him out.He doesn’t actually know what he ever did to make her ignore him this way. To not give him the time of day.There is absolutely no reason for him to be thinking this hard about a girl he’s literally barely ever talked to when he’s currently starring as Patrick Dempsey’s kid on an NBC show. He’s pretty sure he’s just in his head about it because he’s home and there’s fuck all else to do.He doesn’t have to think about this girl from his hometown. He’s not the kind of guy who thinks about girls from his hometown.
Relationships: Harry Bingham/Allie Pressman
Comments: 15
Kudos: 91





	everybody wants you

His mom refuses to let him drop out of school, even when he lands the supporting role on the most popular primetime show. She tells him it’s unacceptable. Considering how much it took for her to actually let him become a performance major, he thinks he should probably not try to push his luck. It’s fucking annoying to do reading and shit while he’s on set, but it is what it is. He’s only got a year to go. He thinks he’s mostly just annoyed at the way she’d said, “We can discuss it when it’s a starring role on Netflix,” as if that was fucking prepostrous and a pipe dream. Like this is all just a fucking joke to her and not the thing he wants to do with his life. Like it matters at all that she threatens to cut him off if he doesn’t do what she wants.

He’d be fine. He’s come into his trust, and also his grandparents would never let him be poor, or whatever. Honestly, the only reason he really keeps any kind of relationship with his mom at all at this point is because of his sister. And now that she’s older, too, he wonders if he should even fucking bother.

But anyway.

He’s also going to Yale. It’s not like he’s at some shitty, podunk performing arts program. He’s not one of those weird theatre kids on TikTok who embarrass themselves trying to be relevant. He’s fucking serious about acting, about wanting to be good at it, and get good parts in plays and movies and maybe shows that make people think and feel things. Like, the world is a trash can. The least he can do is find a way to hopefully bring people joy or make them experience a single emotion other than hopelessness.

It’s funny, too, because she acted all blindsided by his desire to go to theatre school. Like he hasn’t been doing plays and drama club since he was like, 13. Like she, herself, didn’t send him to theatre camp when he was 11 because she was worried about him being a loner, or something. It’s pretty annoying that she acted like it was coming out of nowhere.

She’s only come to see him in one thing since freshman year. Luckily, he stopped letting that shit bother him when he was younger.

The first episode of the show that he’s in airs right before the holiday break, so he goes back to West Ham and hopes she’s stocked the bar well enough that he can get through two entire weeks in this shitty little town. He knows people will have seen it. He knows they might talk to him about it. He can’t decide if he wants them to, or if he’d rather just be left the fuck alone.

His mom barely takes time off work ever, and the holidays are no exception. So he spends most of his time hanging out with his sister. He takes her shopping for gifts and she sees this bag she likes but won’t buy it for herself, so he treats her to it. They get lunch at this diner he thinks is absolutely shitty, but she loves it and it’s her hangout with her friends. They go to a movie another night, see some big budget action time travel thing that Harry isn’t super into but she is.

He’s kind of bored out of his mind. He just wants to be working. Wants to not be here.

His mom insists he can’t just spend his whole break in the house or with his sister, and tells him to pick at least two of the town’s festivities and make himself presentable. He knows what that means; shave, put on a nice coat, talk to at least a few people who’ll tell her they saw him there and make her look good.

It’s a blizzard for the tree lighting, so fuck that. And the craft market sounds like his worst nightmare, but Katherine convinces him it’s actually super fun, because all the old ladies make cookies and like it when the young people come and say hi. Harry hates almost every second of it, but the cookies are legit good.

He sees Allie Pressman at the parade of lights, her plaid scarf pushed up all against her chin and the tip of her nose red. He thinks about going to say hi, but she sees him, locks eyes with him and literally turns her back to him. He laughs softly to himself and heads over to Jason instead, who he hasn’t seen in a while. Harry says something about this fucking town sucking the life out of him, but Jason just looks goofy and confused. He hasn’t left. He took an electrician’s apprenticeship or something and will probably spend his entire life here with his high school jersey number decal on the back of his truck. Harry can’t think of a single thing worse.

He spares a last glance in Allie’s direction before he decides to head home, because this feels stupid and at least his mom’ll be pleased he made an appearance.

Allie gives him a tiny smile this time, but he still leaves. The whole way home, he wonders if he shouldn’t have left. Feels like a missed opportunity to talk to her, honestly.

Look, he doesn’t know what it is about her. Why he’s always liked her so much. Especially when she’s barely ever given him the time of day. Literally he thinks he could count on one hand the amount of conversations they’ve actually had. He thinks she’s had a problem with him since they were kids. But he also remembers that she kissed him once when they were little, came up to him behind the church and pressed her lips against his. To this day, he doesn’t know why. Just knows she smelled like sunscreen and laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world to have kissed him and then touched his lips with her fingers like that.

And he remembers that one time in high school when he found her crying and asked if she was okay and she lied, obviously, and said yes, and then fully let out a sob. He didn’t want to leave her that way, but she’d just looked at him and asked what he was staring at. The next time he saw her, she was very clearly trying to ignore him, so he just let her. To this day, he thinks he shouldn’t have let her do that. Thinks he should’ve had it in him to be a little more brave and actually talk to her about whatever the hell was happening.

But he’s always kind of been a coward when it comes to her, and he thinks that’s honestly just because he’s always been so drawn to her that it freaks him out.

He doesn’t even _know_ her. Not really. He just...Well, he thinks she’s hot. So there’s that. But he likes the way she’s always been so loyal to her friends. He likes how smart she’s always been. When they were in high school, she was in two of his classes because she’s just that good at things, that dedicated. He likes the way she’d stuck up for him that one time when Campbell had been trying to make a fool of him and she’d put her cousin in his place. She didn’t have to do that.

He doesn’t actually know what he ever did to make her ignore him this way. To not give him the time of day. Maybe it has something to do with Cassandra, who’s always had a bigger problem with him than he has with her. Maybe that’s it. Who fucking knows what Cassandra said about him behind his back. He doesn’t care. He shouldn’t care. It doesn’t matter.

There is absolutely no reason for him to be thinking this hard about a girl he’s literally barely ever talked to when he’s currently starring as Patrick Dempsey’s kid on an NBC show. He’s pretty sure he’s just in his head about it because he’s home and there’s fuck all else to do.

He doesn’t have to think about this girl from his hometown. He’s not the kind of guy who thinks about girls from his hometown.

… … …

He’s promoted to series regular and that lasts a season until the show is cancelled. And honestly, it’s a bummer, for sure, but he’s now got two seasons under his belt, a padded bank account, and a degree from Yale. He moves to New York because he thinks you’re probably supposed to move to New York when you’re 22 and starting out a career like he is.

He somehow manages to win a part in a limited revival of A Few Good Men on Broadway, and then things really start to take off. There’s a Netflix movie that films in the Florida Keys, and then a break in his schedule and he uses it to party in the city and enjoy being young and rich and recognizable.

He goes to a party his agent swings him an invite for, and when he’s coming in through the service entrance of this event space, he thinks he’s maybe hallucinating.

“Allie?” he asks, and has had just enough whiskey already this evening before coming here that he feels a little more confident than usual.

She turns, gives him a look like she’s not impressed by his presence, or something. She’s holding an iPad and wearing a headset.

“Harry,” she greets, as if they see each other all the time and none of this is a surprise. But shit, if she…

“You work here?”

“No,” she says, like he’s being insulting. “I work for the biggest experiential marketing firm in the city.” Harry just blinks at her, nods, and then smiles a little. “I’m your escort.”

Oh _fuck_.

He slips his phone into his pocket. “Yeah?”

Allie rolls her eyes, says, “Harry Bingham is here,” into her headset, and then turns around, her ponytail swishing as she does so, and Harry follows probably a little closer than he has to. When she turns again, she reels back a little ‘cause he almost bumps into her. She gives him a skeptical look. “Enjoy.”

“Wait.” He laughs a little, stands there looking at her. How’s she hotter than he remembers? She tilts her head like she’s waiting for what he has to say. “You’re an event planner, or something?”

She gives him a shitty look, lets out a huff like he’s being stupid. “I’m a marketing strategist and this is my biggest account. Please go now and enjoy free alcohol on their dime.”

She jerks the door open and gestures with the hand holding her iPad for him to walk through. The music’s so loud he can barely think. As he passes her, he thinks he should probably not say anything more, but he stops, anyway, gives her a look he knows might get him something he wants. Usually works, anyway.

He says, “It’s good to see you,” and she softens a little, shows him a hint of a smile and blinks slowly before she says, “You too, Harry,” like she might really mean it.

… … …

Okay, if he really thinks about it, it’s not that he doesn’t know her well because he never tried. He thinks that’s maybe what’s bothering him most. He sort of wanted to be her friend when they were younger and had nothing to prove to each other, but she clearly wasn’t interested in that at all.

His publicist asks him how the party was, and he wonders if it’d be fucked up to see if he could somehow get Allie’s number. He decides it definitely would be, and doesn’t ask.

He thinks the only reason he pays any attention to her at all is because they grew up in the same place and there’s some nostalgia, or something. He’s definitely also thinking way too hard about the way she’d smiled at him and how many times she’d said his name and how, weirdly, he wants to know more about her work.

He’s being stupid.

He goes home with this B-List actor who’s in the best new HBO show, leaves her Brooklyn loft at like, four in the morning and smokes a joint as he walks down the street before ordering an Uber.

… … …

He shouldn’t get bored of New York. New York is the least boring city he’s ever been in. And yeah, there’s always something to do, in theory, but it all starts to feel the same after a while. The same people at the same parties, bars and restaurants opening and closing, auditions in the same offices. He flies to London to shoot a movie, then feels energized when he comes back, only to feel just two weeks later like the life’s being sucked out of him here. He’s photographed vaping, talking on the phone outside a coffee shop and then looking annoyed at the photographers when he spots them. There’re memes and side by sides of him with Keanu Reeves and Ben Affleck and people calling him a whole mood, and Harry just…

Like, this _is_ how he feels most of the time - annoyed, under-caffeinated, fielding stupid questions from people on the phone - but he doesn’t want people to think that’s his whole personality. That’s not what he wants to project to the world. It’s not going to get him what he wants.

He goes to a premier of this movie he had absolutely nothing to do with but got an invite to. Emilia Clarke kisses his cheeks on the red carpet because they know each other from around. He goes home at the end of the night and stares at the ceiling when he can’t get his brain to turn off. He’s tempted to take an ambien but is always fucking terrified of falling into the same trap his dad did with the pills and the drinking.

He ends up staying up too late reading the sides his agent sent him for this audition next week, pacing his bedroom with his joggers sitting low on his hips, and wondering if he can channel this loneliness into something he can actually use.

… … …

Allie Pressman is walking towards him on the sidewalk in Chicago in the winter when he’s fucking freezing and just trying to get back to his hotel with a halfway decent cup of coffee.

Seeing her with her hair blowing around in the wind and a pair of little black mittens on and a smile on her face when she notices him…

Yeah. Yeah, it’s good.

“Harry Bingham.”

He grins at her, stops in front of her and thinks she’s sort of catastrophically cute with the tip of her nose all red like that.

“Allie Pressman.” They just stand there looking at each other for a moment, and then he ducks his head because for some reason he’s suddenly uncomfortable being looked at. “Did you leave New York?”

She shakes her head. “No.” Her breath comes out in a puff and evaporates between them. Her eyes are so blue. Have her eyes always been this blue and he just never noticed? What the _fuck_ is he talking about? “No, I’m in town for All Star weekend.” He legitimately has no idea what sport she could be referring to. “We’re doing a bunch of events with the players.”

“That’s cool,” he says, and arches her brow like now it’s his turn to say why he’s here. “I’m here for a few months.”

He doesn’t know why he didn’t just say he’s filming. Would it have been more or less pretentious if he had?

“Something I’ll like?” she asks. Harry doesn’t know how to respond to that, really. He thinks she’s flirting with him, which is...new. It’s new. He gives her a look, and then slips his hands into his coat’s pockets.

“Well, what do you like?”

Allie smiles up at him like she’s definitely pleased he’s flirting back. He tries not to panic and ruin it. She lowers her chin a little, then glances at him from under her lashes, and yeah. Yeah, Harry thinks he’ll like what she says next.

“We should go somewhere and talk about that,” she suggests. He knows he smiles too fast. Too wide. Too much. But it makes her press her lips together like she doesn’t want him to see how big she wants to smile, too, and he tilts his head a little.

“My hotel’s just around the corner.” She pulls her scarf up over her mouth, but doesn’t stop looking at him. “We could talk there, if you want.”

Allie just nods, and Harry is…

Honestly, he’s better with women than he’s acting. God, he’s so much better with women than he’s ever been with her, specifically. It’s widely reported how good he is. How he’s got good chemistry with costars and even reporters who interview him. There was that one interview he did in London that went viral because of the way he was looking at the interviewer. And whatever. He just thought she was cute and he liked the questions she was asking. He wasn’t _trying_ to make it a thing. And when she DM-ed him asking if he wanted to grab a drink, he said no. He’s not a scumbag.

He just...He knows his strengths, okay? He knows how women see him, and how being as charming as he is only helps grow his fanbase. Which is important at this stage in his career.

He asks Allie how long she’s in town, and knows it’s probably not much more than the weekend. He’s right. She says she leaves on Tuesday to go back to New York. He’s not disappointed, necessarily. Jesus, it’d be presumptuous as fuck. Like, yeah, she’s coming with him to his hotel room, but he’s not sleazy enough to think that’s a green light for sex, and certainly doesn’t think it means she’s willing to come back here again.

Honestly, he can’t stop looking at her. Which she’s definitely noticed. He doesn’t feel like that part’s new; he’s always liked looking at her.

“Wow,” she says, unzipping her coat as he closes the door to his suite behind them. She’s looking around and then turns to look at him, smiling. “I’m sharing with one of my colleagues and you have this place all to yourself? Hardly fair.”

He says what comes to mind, which is, “You can stay with me,” and Allie lets out this little sound and keeps smiling at him, so that’s...maybe he’s not being too bold.

Like, she’s standing in front of him and agreed to come here pretty much immediately after saying hello. It’s probably fine?

He can barely process what happens next, which is that Allie puts both hands on his shoulders, leans up on her toes and kisses him. His hands move up in surprise, but he’s sort of afraid to touch her, until he realizes that’s fucking insane because she’s literally kissing him and it’s likely okay. He sets his hands on her hips, then, and kisses her back, leans forward a little until her back bends and her body’s pressing against his, her arms going around his neck, and _fuck_ , this is exactly as hot as he always thought it’d be.

Of course, he’s thought about it. Maybe not frequently, not since high school, anyway, but...He’s never seen her or run into her and not thought about what it’d be like to be with her.

He doesn’t know if he should move them, but then Allie lets out this little sound and presses her tongue against his and moves a hand into his hair, so yeah, he thinks he can sort of make some decisions here. He starts walking towards the bedroom. Her toes must barely be skimming the floor. He pushes a hand into her hair, too, because god, he’s always loved her hair. His fingers brush her neck and she lets out a little whine.

She says, “Your hands are cold,” and he says, “Sorry,” and she just shakes her head and kisses him again, so.

He does let them warm up a little more before pushing them up under her sweater, and then her own hands are pushing up his tee shirt and they break apart only so he can take it off, and then hers, and then...Then, god. He just wants to slow down a second. Wants to look at her. He thinks she gets that, too, because her fingertips trail down his torso and she watches herself touch him and Harry pushes her hair back because it’s kind of a mess. It’s sexy, but he wants to see her face, too. Her lips all pink from kissing and the flush on her cheeks. She looks up at him when he rests a hand on the side of her neck, but then he’s looking down at her, too. Because...Because honestly, he thinks a part of him has wanted this for so long he deserves to take it all in.

Allie’s hands move to his belt, and he tries really hard to not let that distract him, but, well. He doesn’t often fail at things so he’s trying not to dwell on this one too hard.

Her underwear don’t match her bra, which is not a thing he cares about at all, but she says something about it and then laughs when he says, grinning, “Take them off, then.”

She does, though. So. Whatever.

He’s got no reason to think this’ll ever happen again, and if it ends up being just a one time thing, he wants her to feel good about it. To know he’s good at this. To make her feel amazing. And he accomplishes that. A few times, which he feels good about even before he comes with her. And then she’s breathing hard and he’s moving to lie next to her and her hand comes up to rest against him. She lets out this small laugh, and then he glances over, his heart still racing, and she smiles at him like…

No, fuck. He has no idea.

They lie there like that, him playing with the ends of her hair and neither of them saying anything, for a few minutes. Allie’s eyes slip closed and he just watches her until he realizes that’s maybe creepy, and then she opens them anyway.

“Water?” he asks, and she nods, so he gets up, slips into the washroom quickly and then emerges and grabs his sweats before going to fill two glasses for them. When he comes back, she’s under the sheets, sitting up a little against the headboard, but still fully undressed under the covers. He can't help grinning at the sight. She looks fucking incredible.

“What?” she asks, takes the glass from him and says thanks. He shakes his head, gets into bed with her. He figures that’s allowed, too. She moves closer, sinks down a little so she can wedge herself up against him. Her shoulder’s cold. “You were staring.”

“You’re nice to look at.” She lets out a soft laugh and tilts her head back. “Wanna talk about your Netflix preferences now, or?”

She’s grinning at him and shakes her head at his bad joke. “No,” she says, and then her hand slides along his stomach just above the waist of his pants. “No, I think you did a pretty good job of figuring out what I like.” Harry chokes on the sip of water he just took, and she laughs at that, too. “I didn’t think I’d be the forward one, of the two of us.”

He can’t think of an answer to that, honestly. He’s not used to being speechless around women. And he’s never been able to work out why Allie makes him feel so different, but maybe it doesn’t matter, either. Plus, he’s still the one who invited her here, you know? It’s not like she dragged him by the wrist and ran some seduction on him. Part of it, he thinks, has to be that he’s never known where he stood with her. Shit, that’s not even true. He knew where he stood because she didn’t give him the time of day or any of her attention even when he was asking for it. Even when he wanted it. Why would he think she’s gonna be as easy to talk with as the other women he’s had, when nothing about his interactions with her have _ever_ been easy?

“I think we’re pretty evenly matched,” is what he says, and Allie lets out a hum and then he notices a blush creeping down over her chest and thinks that’s pretty interesting and he wants to know what’s going through her head. Probably something about how good they were in bed together. “I mean, I am kind of surprised.”

Her brows go up and she turns a bit, then leans across him, sets her glass on the table next to the bed. He does the same because honestly, he’d rather hold her.

“Why’s that?” She moves, gets on top of him, and like...Fucking hell. The sheets aren’t covering her, and she’s all warm and gorgeous and not at all shy and… She shoves gently at his chest to get him to focus on something other than the fact that she’s here, naked, with him. On top of him.

“You’ve always been quick with the cold shoulder.”

She looks genuinely confused. “When?”

He narrows his eyes. He just said it. “Always?” Her head tilts like she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, which...This makes no sense.

“That’s not how I remember it.”

Currently, he’s having a hard time figuring out why they’re talking about high school or whatever when they’re both fully adults and she’s naked and clearly whatever happened in high school matters exactly not at all.

But if she’s also saying...He’s a little interested in what she’s saying.

“How do you remember it?”

God, she’s got a pretty smile.

“You were hot and popular and an asshole to my sister.” He laughs, because...Okay, this isn’t surprising. He should’ve guessed her lack of desire to give him any attention had something to do with the fact that Cassandra and he did not get along. “No way was I going to like, what, flirt with you in the hallways?”

He shrugs, reaches up and runs his fingers through her hair. “Could've been hot.”

She rolls her eyes. “You didn’t even notice me then. Nobody noticed me then.”

His brow furrows and he looks right at her to see if she’s actually serious. Because like, that’s definitely not true. He won’t speak for other people, but he will speak for himself. And that’s just...Not true.

“I definitely did.” There she goes, trying to hide that smile again. He blinks, moves his hands back to her thighs. He really likes touching her. “I kind of always had a thing for you.”

She kind of freezes, looks at him like she’s trying to figure out if he’s telling the truth. She must realize that he is, that she has nothing to lose, because she gives him this gorgeous look like he’s made her happy, and leans in, presses this sweet kiss to his lips. It’s very, very different from how she kissed him earlier. Harry moves his hands up her back gently and she shivers.

“You’re cold,” he notes, and she shakes her head no, which...He’s fucking weak for her.

“No, I just like the way you touch me.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, and Allie says, “Yes, please,” and like, this woman’s gonna be on his mind for a while, isn’t she?

It’s late when she’s getting ready to go, and he definitely doesn’t want her to, but also knows she’s here for work and so he’s not going to make a big thing out of her having to go back to her own hotel. He won’t also pretend he knows a lot about her, but he thinks he can assume she takes her work seriously, if the way she’d reacted to him at that party last year, or whenever that was, is any indication. He respects that, thinks she’s probably really good at what she does, because he honestly just can’t imagine Allie half assing things, you know? He wants to ask her more about her life. He’d love to know where she went to school, and what her job’s really like, and where she lives, and all sorts of other basic shit he thinks they could’ve gotten to tonight if this had gone just a little differently. Not that he minds in the slightest how it’s gone.

She pulls her shirt back on, and Harry watches her, and then she gives him this pretty look as she tugs her hair out the back.

“You know, I thought I noticed you looking sometimes,” she says, and he just waits, because...Well, because he doesn’t know what the hell to say to that. “When we were younger. I mentioned it to Becca once and she laughed in my face.”

That’s sort of shitty. He knows the name, but can’t put a face to who Becca even is. He thinks it’s kind of a trash reaction to something your friend says. But he also remembers how he was when he was younger and yeah, he wasn’t always thinking about peoples’ feelings, either, when he said or did the first thing that came to mind.

“It’s really not so hard to believe,” he tells her, because he thinks she wants to hear it. She wouldn’t be bringing it up again if it wasn’t still on her mind, and he’s not embarrassed to be honest about what he felt when he was a teenager and she was like, the one thing he wanted that he couldn’t have.

He thinks she’s going to say something more about when they were younger, but what she does instead is squeeze his hand and then step into the washroom. He can see her checking her reflection on the mirror, then she fusses with her hair, and Harry knows there’s something really wrong about how badly he doesn’t want her to go. About how badly he doesn’t want this to be it.

When she comes out again, he sits up and moves to the end of the bed, and she stands between his knees easily enough that he lets himself smile when he looks up at her.

“I can get you into the game,” she says, her hand pushing his hair back.

“It’s tomorrow?”

She smiles like she might want to tease him, or something. “Sunday. And...It’s basketball.”

Harry laughs a little at being caught out on his cluelessness. “I’m on set late on Sunday.”

Her face falls a little. Harry skims his hands up the backs of her thighs over her pants, then settles them on her hips. She bites her bottom lip, then sighs.

“Well...Maybe I should give you my number.” Harry feels how quickly his eyes fly up to meet her gaze, how hopeful the look on his face must be. “You can call me when you’re back in New York.”

“Yeah?” he asks with a grin, and then she just nods gently, and he… “Can I also text you before then?”

She looks surprised. Which almost annoys him. Like, has anything he’s said or done tonight indicated that he wanted this to solely be a casual sex thing? Maybe he should want that - maybe it’s fucking insane to think it’d be anything more. But the idea of her leaving and them not talking for months until he’s back in New York is just...He doesn’t want that.

She’s grinning and her thumb is stroking the skin just below his ear when she says, “I guess I can’t stop you,” and it’s cute, but he kind of wants a more serious answer than that, so he just keeps looking at her. She finally nods. “Yeah. Of course.”

His brow goes up. “Of course?”

Allie rolls her eyes as she lets out a little laugh, then leans down to kiss him, which he just really likes. A lot. Too much.

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” She doesn’t keep talking, so he just hums, but he’s definitely distracted by how close her mouth is to his, and part of him is wondering if he could convince her to stay a little longer if he just kissed her the right way. “I think I’m realizing maybe I was always a little into you, too.”

Harry smiles too widely, tips his chin up so his lips graze against hers. She must think he’s just trying to tease, or something, because she lets out a little whine and he feels her fingers press against his skin a bit harder.

“You don’t have to say that,” he tells her, because honestly, he’s not sure if it’s true. Maybe she’s not sure, either. And maybe it shouldn’t matter, but it kind of does.

“I’m...This is confusing,” she says, but she’s smiling still, and then she sits down on his knee and slides her hand across his shoulders, her legs still between his. She’s supposed to be leaving, or whatever, but Harry likes this better, puts his hand on her thigh and tugs her closer. “You’re like, a big deal, and you always have been, and I…”

She shakes her head again.

She doesn’t finish her thought.

“It’s not confusing,” he says, which he almost regrets, because who the hell is he to tell her how she feels? But she just watches him, waiting for him to say more. “It’s pretty straightforward.”

She laughs, and he thinks she looks really fucking pretty when she does that, and then she stands up and turns her back to him, and she can’t just _leave_ , right? He can’t let her leave thinking this is out of the ordinary or whatever.

He follows her into the main part of the suite, sees her grab her phone from her purse and open Uber, then set it down as the app loads.

“You’re leaving?” he asks, and she reaches for her coat, smiles as she turns to face him again.

It’s a stupid question, he realizes. She’s obviously leaving. He should’ve said what he really wanted to say. Which is that she should stay and they should talk and he could order her a car later, or something.

“If you keep talking like that and touching me, I’ll be here all night,” she says, and she’s definitely teasing, but also giving him this dark look that lets him know she means it, a little, too. “I have to be up at 7:00 for work.”

Oh, shit. She’s definitely gonna be tired tomorrow.

“Okay.”

She has her coat on, but still presses herself all up against him, her hand on the back of his neck, and gives him a kiss way too hot for her to just go now.

“You just want me,” she tells him, her voice low.

And like…

“Yes.”

She laughs, pulls away from him and orders her ride. He watches her pull her wrap her scarf around herself, and he thinks he should at least get to walk her downstairs, or something. But then he thinks of his publicist and knows he’ll be in serious shit if there are pictures of him with a woman leaving his hotel. It’s the kind of thing that’s only happened once and it was a whole fucking fiasco.

He says he’ll message her in a minute and asks her to let him know she gets in okay. He should sleep, because he’s got a pretty early day tomorrow, too. But he can’t. Even after she’s messaged him, and even though he’s tired, he can’t get his mind to turn off. And not in the usual way, where he’s anxious and overthinking and making things bigger than they need to be in his head. No, now he’s thinking about Allie and her laugh and her hands and the way she’d said his name and the way she seems to really, really like that he’s being honest with her.

… … …

He follows her on Instagram when he’s got time driving between locations and he’s bored in the car on this 45 minute drive. She’s posted a couple pictures from this weekend, her with a couple players he doesn’t recognize, and then one with a player literally so huge there’s no way you can like, live in the world and not know him. There’s another of this little office, or whatever, where there’s a laptop open and three Starbucks cups all with her name on them and he wants to comment but figures it’d be weird to everyone and cause a whole thing if he suddenly starts liking and commenting on her posts. Like, he’s not being shitty, but people don’t even know who she is. He just knows there are people whose jobs it is to check which celebrities follow and unfollow whoever they do on any given day. Allie’s account has like 300 followers, says where she works, and that she’s in Chicago for this thing. It’s not gonna send up any signals that he’s followed her, because if anything, people will just assume they met at All Star Weekend and that’ll be that.

He’s overthinking this. Very much so.

He texts her that she’s flexing on everyone by posting all these photos with athletes. She sends back some star emojis and says obviously she’s got more famous connections than he does. It’s a goofy joke but he likes it. He asks her how it’s going, and she says something about frustrations and hiccups she’s trying to let go of. She asks what he’s up to, and he takes a stupid picture of himself in the van with the scenery blurring in the background, and says he’s on the way to shoot like, six more hours at least. He watches her three dots appear and disappear twice, and then she just sends back, _’I’m annoyed you look that hot doing nothing’_ and he laughs and figures that’s something like a compliment.

Then she sends him a picture of herself with a beer in her hand, her hair piled up on her head, and honestly she looks so good he has to clench his jaw and he makes sure no one else in the car has a chance of seeing his screen. Not that there’s anything scandalous about this photo, or anything. He thinks, honestly, he just sort of likes that it’s for him. Maybe she’s sending it to other people, or will post it, or something, but he can tell himself she took it with him in mind and let himself have the lie.

Harry loves what he does, but he types and deletes that he’d rather be with her. Because what the fuck is he doing, thinking shit like that? He might not even mean it. Maybe. He just says she looks hot, too, and asks if she’s got more work to do today.

She says there’s one more event this evening and then she’s off until just a couple hours before game time tomorrow. Harry knows it’s wrong and too much to wonder if she could come to his hotel then, later. He needs to chill. He just tells her to enjoy her rest and she sends back a cute emoji and they leave it at that.

… … …

He ends up having to go to L.A. for press and then an awards show after filming, and it’s all more last minute than he’d like. He wants to say no. He does say no. At first anyway. But his manager and his agent and his publicist all team up to remind him not to be fucking stupid. Which is good.

It’s just another week. It’s really not a big deal. It’s just that the first time in…shit. For the first time maybe ever, he’s got a reason to want to get home. He and Allie have talked. A lot. And he reminds himself they’re taking this slowly, and not putting pressure on themselves or what’s happening. Because so far it’s all chill. They’re talking. She admitted she’s not talking to anyone else. He isn’t, either. And maybe that wasn’t deliberate, like he wasn’t giving up other girls or whatever and committing to someone. He’s just been busy, and he’s been talking to Allie, and he’s not felt any need or reason to do that with anyone else.

He just feels like an asshole when he has to break the news of another delay - the first came when filming went long and he had another two weeks in Illinois. But she takes it in stride, because she’s in general apparently way better at this than he is. More calm. And that’s worked out for him, really, because she sort of makes him more calm, too.

“Will you take a picture for me when you’re all ready for the red carpet?” she asks, and Harry breathes out a laugh and thinks, not for the first time, that the lighting in her bedroom is shit for FaceTiming. “One that no one else gets to see.” He chokes on his coffee. She laughs out, “Not like _that_ ,” but sounds a little embarrassed, or something.

“Sorry. I…”

“Do you know what you’re wearing?” she asks, powers through, because she’s good at that, too.

He shakes his head. He’s sort of tired of this hotel suite, to be honest. He can’t wait to be somewhere else. Even if it’s a different hotel for a week before home.

“No. My stylist is sending me pictures.”

“Mm.” He thinks she’s up to something, then she grins and comes out with it. “One of my new accounts is one of the big fashion houses.” Interesting that she doesn’t say which one. He thinks she likes being a little mysterious about her work. “We should talk about getting you into their clothes.”

He hesitates, because his mind goes elsewhere. Honestly, it goes to that night here, in this bed, with her tugging his belt open, him pulling her pants down off her hips. The lace at the top of her underwear.

She laughs and asks him why he’s blanking.

“I was thinking of getting you out of your clothes.”

He watches her face. She’s just looking at him, and then she scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip, and they don’t do _this_ thing very often. Not that he doesn’t want to. Just...He’s trying not to be a sleaze, not to live up to the reputation he has that he’s sure Allie now knows is mostly fabricated. He also just likes talking to her, getting to know her. And it’s not that they often even FaceTime or get on the phone. They text, mostly. They did go this route once, but she initiated it, and it was over text, and it was...So fucking good. She’s…

He’s not even trying to initiate something, here. He was just being honest about what he was thinking, because she asked.

“I’m currently wearing absolutely nothing but this sweater, so there isn’t much work to be done,” she says after a moment, and Harry thinks he’s played himself, because no matter how hot they make this - and it’s already hotter than it should be - it’s not going to actually be what he wants, is it? “And I only threw this on when you called.”

He laughs, pushes his hair off his forehead. “So you were just sitting around naked before this?”

She shrugs, looks right at him. “Do you not do that when you’re home alone?”

“No. Should I?”

“Objectively, yes.” He chuckles again, and should probably stop thinking about the fact that this is all she’s wearing. Like, really, she’s not got anything else on? “Subjectively, absolutely yes.”

He blushes, which he hates, and hopes she can’t tell he’s doing it. Something about her makes him feel 14 again, which is fucking wild. He shouldn’t be into it, but he kind of is. There’s something about the way their dynamic works that makes him feel like himself again. She didn’t really know him before he was famous, or whatever, but she knew enough. She doesn’t get all caught up in the fame stuff, the parties and the pictures. Probably that’s also helped by the industry she works in, too, so he’s also a little thankful for that. She just has this really great balance of treating him like he’s normal, being interested in what he does, and not believing everything she reads. She also told him flat out she doesn’t think he’s better than anyone just because he’s made it. He had a tough time with that one. Because he is definitely, undoubtedly, better than other people. He has something they didn’t that allowed him to get where he is. It hadn’t felt like something to argue about, especially when he knew what she was saying.

Sort of. Like, honestly you don’t get to do what he does and not think you’re better than some other people. And any actor who says differently is either fucking lying, or completely out of touch.

“Allie.” She grins at him like this is exactly the reaction she wanted. Which sort of kills him.

Maybe he’s still grappling with the fact that she never wanted him before but she seems to very much want him now.

He gets a notification for a call from his publicist, so he says he has to go and she tells him to enjoy the rest of his evening. He thinks, truly, that she absolutely means to be teasing him in just the way he likes when she reaches for the bottom of her sweater like she’s gonna take it off just before she ends their call. God, he likes that so fucking much.

… … …

He sends her a photo of himself in this dark green velvet suit he’s wearing. He’s in the hotel with the bed unmade behind him and his laptop sitting there with Spotify open.

Allie responds, _’??? Why???’_ and he really doesn’t even know what that means, but then there’s a string of compliments including one in which she says he looks really fucking good.

There’s a photo that comes out of him on the red carpet with his phone in his hand, smiling at something. The something was a message from Allie saying she was only following this stupid awards show on Twitter so she could see him and what people are saying about him, and then another message asking what that says about her.

He replied that she’s just into him, and she said _’Guilty 🤷🏼’_.

… … …

He impulse buys a white Porsche and then when they’re making plans to finally get together, he asks if she wants to go for a drive. She gives him some sass about the open road called Broadway, or something, but he tells her he’s got a line on a place in the Hamptons and - if she’s game - she can come with him while he checks it out.

She slides into his passenger seat and she looks kind of fucking incredible. He hasn’t seen her in person in months. There’re some people noticing him, so he can’t do what he wants to do, which is slide his hand around the side of her neck and kiss her.

He tells her so when she’s clicking her seatbelt on, and she looks over at him, blushing prettily, and reminds him that doing something public was his idea in the first place. Which is true, and honestly feels stupid.

But also: “I’m good with this.”

She smiles and asks him what all these buttons on the dash do.

Harry listens to the listing agent for this house tell him about the details he couldn’t care less about, like when the AC was upgraded, and how many square feet the rooftop terrace is. Harry’s distracted, watching Allie run the tips of her fingers over the edge of the countertop and then wander to the back ot the house, where it’s all windows and glass accordion doors that open all the way up and reveal a kind of insane view of the ocean. Harry knows that’s what he’d be paying for.

“How many feet of frontage?” she asks, and Harry smiles, likes that she’s not just keeping to herself or whatever.

They stop for lunch in town, and Allie eats pieces of avocado from his salad and looks so comfortable in a beach town, even when it’s not even summer yet, that he considers…

No. He doesn’t consider it. He just thinks about her on the beach and maybe coming here when they can take advantage of the weather and the long days.

“So, are you done showing off?” she asks, but she’s absolutely teasing, he can tell. “With your fast car and your fancy potential real estate investment?”

Harry shrugs, shoots her a grin. “Planning on paying for lunch, too.”

“Mm.” She nods. “I knew I should’ve gotten an appetizer.” He laughs, wipes his mouth with his napkin and sets down his cutlery. “I’m actually a little glad we still have chemistry.”

He sips his water, watches her a second, wonders if she’s going to elaborate. She doesn’t. “Yeah?”

She shrugs, glances carefully at the people at the next table, who he knows have definitely recognized him. So he’s thinking whatever Allie has to say is probably not something that either of them wants to be said in front of people who may or may not be eavesdropping.

She pauses, then leans forward a little. “Are you really going to buy that house?”

Harry shakes his head. “It’s overpriced,” he tells her, and she lets out a laugh and looks at him like he’s insane. “What? I mean, I don’t _need_ it. It’d just be like, a toy.”

Her brow goes up. “Sort of like a brand new Porsche?”

Touché.

“The car was just to impress you,” he says with a smirk, and Allie rolls her eyes so hard it makes him laugh. Their server comes back, and Harry asks for the cheque, asks for two pieces of the dessert special to go. Maybe he’s being presumptuous, but he thinks Allie’s game to keep hanging out, even when they get back to the city. “Is it working?”

Allie gives him a look so hot across the table that he finds himself nearly having to take a deep breath.

She says, “I think, Harry, that anything would’ve worked.”

He considers saying something about how he could’ve saved the $150k, then, but thinks just smiling at her is the better play. If the way she wets her bottom lip and pushes her hair back means anything, he thinks he’s right. He tips 100% on their bill, but doesn’t tell her that, and then has his hand on her back as they head for the door.

When they’re back in the city, she gives him a look and asks if he wants to come inside, and he does, and then they share one of those pieces of cake in her bed at like, 2am with the lights down low and just her sheets covering them.

… … …

He’s slow on the pickup when Allie tells him some guy has asked her out on a date.

He doesn’t react poorly, or get pissed, or ask her why the fuck she’s telling him this. He just looks at her with his eyes narrowed and she stares back at him like she wants him to understand why she’s bringing it up. It takes him too long.

They’ve been seeing each other for like, six weeks. Officially, anyway. Not counting those months of talking. And it’s complicated by his schedule and then her schedule and the fact that he’s seen pretty fucking often with other people. Mostly the actors he works with. Like, he walks the red carpet for a premier with Lana Condor because they’re friends, sort of, after working on that thing last year, and afterward there’s all this speculation on if they’re dating, or something, because of the way they’re looking at each other in a couple of the photos.

It doesn’t complicate he and Allie because she makes it clear she’s not jealous and knows it’s his job and doesn’t think he’s dating Lana Condor. Which is good. Maybe he’s just really fucking aware of it. Maybe he’s just really fucking aware of the fact that he can’t go out in public and be seen with the woman he _is_ dating, because it’ll be an entire thing he doesn’t really want to deal with. He doesn’t want to put Allie through it, either. Especially not…

Not yet, okay? Not yet.

Allie had to go to L.A. for work for six days and sent him a picture of her with Zayn and told him not to get too deep in his feelings about her meeting one of her high school crushes. He wasn’t in his feelings at all, just told her she looked really hot in the picture.

But this isn’t a picture with Zayn. It’s Allie telling him some guy from one of the AV companies she works with most often asked her if she wanted to go to dinner with him.

She looks a little inscrutable that Harry still hasn’t said anything.

“I said no.”

“Good,” he tells her, and maybe it’s too quick. She just blinks, tilts her head. “I mean, you can obviously do what you want, but if you want my opinion, you shouldn’t.”

Her brow ticks up. He’s definitely playing this all wrong. “Why’s that?” she asks.

Harry moves closer on his sofa, angles his body, moves his hand up her thigh. “Because maybe I wanna be the only guy taking you on dates.” Yeah, she’s still not giving him much. “If...If that’s cool with you.”

She seems to consider her answer, then takes a slow breath and lets it out. “What I want to do is be with you,” she tells him, and he knows he shows how happy he is all over his face. Maybe with his whole body, which leans even closer, his other hand moving up to slip into her hair. “And I think…” She smiles, finally, _finally_ , and settles her hand onto the back of his neck, too, her thumb stroking his skin, which they both know he loves maybe more than most things. “I think at some point we’re going to both have to get used to that.”

He laughs softly, because she’s fucking right, isn’t she? He nods his head.

“I will if you will.”

She gives him an incredulous look. “Will you?”

Harry shrugs, moves his fingers gently against her scalp. “Probably not.” She laughs, leans against his hand, then moves, situates her legs over his thighs. They couldn’t get closer than they are on this couch unless they were lying down. Which isn’t a bad idea, actually. “Sometimes I still look at you and wonder if you’re gonna start ignoring me like you used to.”

She smiles too widely for him to think she isn’t about to make a joke at his expense.

“I wouldn’t have done that if I’d known you’d get this rich and good in bed.”

“I’ve always been rich and good in bed.”

“Mhm. Of course,” she says quietly, scrunches her nose cutely and leans in to kiss him. “Let’s see how you fare as a boyfriend?”

Harry smiles, lets himself a quiet second to feel as good as he does about that, and yeah, they should be lying down. He moves, loves the smile on her face, and lowers his body over hers.

“I’m really good at everything. You should know.” Instead of throwing back some kind of barb, she just nods, slides her hands up his back. Somewhere nearby, her phone rings - the ringtone she has for Cassandra - and he says, “Leave it.”

Cassandra’s a problem for another day.

… … …

Allie picks out his clothes for the VMAs.

One of the big brands her company represents is doing one of the afterparties, so he sees her there in her little black dress and heels with her hair curled all pretty and a lanyard around her neck. They’re both working, and they both knew this would happen. She promised to deliver on him appearing, and she thinks it’s super hilarious that everyone doubted her.

She’d said, “They don’t know I wake up in your bed most mornings. It’s kind of a hot secret,” over kombucha and overpriced takeout a couple weeks ago.

“Doesn’t have to stay a secret,” he’d told her.

She’d just replied, “Not yet,” and then they talked about a timeline on when they might come out with this. It’s not as easy as just telling their colleagues. There’s a whole fucking process, okay? He’s gotta let all his representatives know, and he should probably also tell his mom, but he doesn’t really feel like it and Allie disagrees with keeping the woman in the dark, but...She just doesn’t quite get it. Not really. Allie’s super close with her family..

Anyway, Allie looks really pretty, and Harry’s standing at the bar with this actor he kind of knows from around. They’ve hung out at this kind of thing before. The guy follows Harry’s line of sight and lets out a little sound. Harry doesn’t like that sound. So he looks away from her and then tries to ignore her the rest of the night. Which is sort of difficult. It’s always been difficult. Moreso now when he knows what she looks like naked, and that she likes him, and that she’s going to be getting into his bed later.

He knows he can leave before she can. He feels badly for her, having to stay the whole time and also not at all being able to enjoy the party.

When she lets herself into his apartment at like, 4am, he hears her heels clatter onto the floor and then she’s walking into his bedroom and getting into bed with her dress still on.

“Allie,” he laughs, but she closes her eyes even though he switched the light on when he heard her come in. “You should take this off.” She lets out a huff and just turns onto her stomach so he can get at the zipper. He tugs it down, pulls the dress off one shoulder, then the other. “Cooperate.”

She whines, but sits up, pulls the dress off, then drops it off the side of the bed onto the floor, does the same with her bra.

Harry turns the light off again, and Allie curls all up against him, her head on the pillow and her hand on his heart.

“We gotta go public so I can quit my job and then just be professional arm candy.”

Harry knows she’s joking. He knows it. She’d be miserable not working.

“You got it,” he says quietly. She breathes a soft, sleepy laugh and leans over to kiss his arm because it’s the closest thing to her.

He knows she’s going to regret sleeping in her makeup and not brushing her teeth before bed, but it really doesn’t feel like the time to mention it.

… … …

He does the Kelly Clarkson show because Kelly Clarkson is fucking great and he isn’t shy about his thoughts on that. She lets out that killer laugh she has when he tells her that From Justin to Kelly was in heavy rotation when he was younger. It’s a joke, but it’s sort of not a joke. He really had a thing for her. A proper crush. She’s hot, okay? And Allie knows all this and thinks it’s understandable. She puts on Breakaway way too loud while he’s packing.

Anyway, Kelly calls him handsome and says something about how steadily he’s been working for a few years, and she’s absolutely fishing when she asks how he could have time for a relationship, and he thinks he’s probably supposed to answer something charming and bachelor-like about his love life, but that’s not…

“I mean…”

She gets a little glimmer in her eye. “Is there a special lady? Because it looks like there’s a special lady.”

Harry smiles, knows Allie will absolutely hate being referred to as a special lady. The only reason she’ll be okay with it is because it's this person saying it.

So he just says, “There is,” and then the crowd cheers, which is weird, but. “She’s great, and has her own career stuff going on. We both live in New York, so it works out.”

Kelly sets her hand on his and squeezes, then lets go, and says, “That’s the smile of a happy man, right there,” and Harry doesn’t know what the hell to say to that so he’s glad she’s throwing to commercial.

He texts Allie to let her know that shit all went down, because the show will air in a couple days. She replies _’Honestly surprised you haven’t let it slip before now’_ and then a gif of Mariah Carey and the words ‘why are you so obsessed with me?’

Harry smiles to himself as he leaves the lot and heads for his next appointment.

… … …

Allie has way too much fun with all the speculation on who his special lady could be.

(And he was right. She thinks that sounds dumb but Kelly gets a free pass because she’s, you know, Kelly Clarkson.)

The most absurd name that gets thrown around with his is Taylor Swift, who he’s never actually even properly met. He’s seen her at some stuff, but they’ve had no reason to talk. Harry digs up a super old video of himself in high school singing Love Story with his little sister, whose permission he gets before he posts it on Instagram.

He remembers this day. Katherine had been upset about something and Harry and their dad were cheering her up. And it worked. She’s smiling and dancing around in the video while he scream sings _’Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone’_. He can hear his dad laughing as he takes the video.

(Believe it or not, Harry didn’t hang onto this video all these years because he looks or sounds cool in it. He kept it because of that laugh and also a little because of the look on his sister’s face.)

Anyway, he posts it and captions it _’@taylorswift’ how could you resist all this?’_ and then the face palm emoji.

He didn’t tell Allie he was doing this. She laughs so hard from the other room that when he actually joins her there, she’s literally rolling on his bed and wiping tears from her eyes. He’s about to tell her it’s not _that_ funny when she stops, swipes out and then back in to start the video over and says, “Wait, is that your dad?” all serious and interested.

Harry thinks he loves her.

… … …

Her birthday ends up being an issue, which he feels like a complete asshole about.

It’s just that she wants to go out to dinner and then a few of her favourite bars with her friends, and he thinks she should get to do what she wants, but also knows that he can’t really just go with her without drawing all sorts of attention. She literally rolls her eyes at him when he says this, which he doesn’t like fucking _at all_ , and then she says something kind of shitty about him being self-important, or something, which is garbage.

They’ve just been really careful, and he thinks that’s good, because not being careful means her life gets turned upside down. They don’t really do a whole lot in public together; they go to restaurants where one or both of them knows people who can get them a good table or private room away from prying eyes. When she came with him on a short trip to L.A., they basically hung out in the room and he set her up with some spa services and all that was fine.

He realizes, when she says, “This is the second last weekend before you leave, so it’s not crazy that I wanna be around you,” he thinks she’s probably not fighting with him about her actual birthday.

And then later, when he says, “Is this really how you want your family to find out?” he thinks it’s not what he’s pissed about, either.

He thinks they realize it at the same time, and Allie signs and stops like, aggressively chopping onion for this pasta sauce she’s making. Harry just watches her and stops wrestling with the wine bottle he’s been too distracted to actually get the cork out of. They look at each other and Harry tries to smile, but he’s pretty sure he fails, and Allie washes her hands and gives him a cute look when he passes her the towel so she can dry them.

“I’m not afraid for my family to find out,” she says, and it sounds a little like an accusation. Like he’s the one stopping them from saying something. Which he’s not, honestly. Not really. Allie crosses her arms. “And don’t say ‘my family’ when what you want to say is ‘Cassandra’.”

It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes, but he manages to resist the very strong urge he has, and instead just tilts his head and lets out his breath. He’s trying to sort out if he thinks she’s right or if she’s projecting.

“Okay,” he concedes, but also: “Don’t make it sound like you’re pissed about your birthday when what you really are is bothered that I’m leaving.”

She doesn’t deny it. Not really. Like, she says, “I’m a little pissed about my birthday,” but it’s sort of weak, anyway, and she still takes a step closer to him. He reaches for her because he thinks this is the start of the end of this argument, or whatever, and he likes that. “I don’t think it’s crazy that I want to spend it with you.”

She’s right. She’s so right.

“It’s not.” He just… “You should also just get to do what you want to do, too.”

She tips her chin up. “I want everything, though.” Harry lets out a quiet laugh and flexes his fingers gently against her waist. “I want you, and I wanna get stupid drunk with my friends. I want you to be there and pick up the tab and then take me home at the end of the night.”

They can’t just _do_ that, can they? “In a perfect world, maybe.”

Honestly, he’s not going to have the first time they’re seen together be when she’s drunk. He wouldn’t do that to her. He won’t. He thinks she gets, in theory, the way it feels to be all over every gossip site and social media platform, but she’s never lived it and he just plainly refuses to let her have some traumatic experience in the public eye. If he can avoid it, prevent it, he’s going to. He hopes she can understand that.

And anyway…

“Why haven’t you told Cassandra about us?”

She seems to consider how she wants to answer, and then huffs out a frustrated breath and looks kind of bothered. “Because she thinks you’re still a conceited jackass, and I’m scared she’s going to be disappointed that I’m choosing you.”

And see, he should be irritated at the name calling, at the fact that Cassandra can’t seem to get over high school bullshit, even despite her general high and mighty attitude. But what he is instead, is dwelling on the way Allie said that. Focusing on the parts he likes and ignoring the parts he doesn’t.

(Which is sort of how they got here, in this serious discussion, but he doesn’t want to think about that, either. Not right now.)

“Choosing me,” he says quietly, and god, Allie’s so fucking pretty when she looks up at him, sort of leans against his chest. “Feels like we should both talk to some people about just coming out with this.” She nods, leans up to kiss him. They still have to resolve the birthday thing, which he’s sure they’ll get to. “I’m feeling protective of you.”

She grins like she likes this _a lot_. “Tell me more,” she requests, bringing her arms up over his shoulders, tugging him closer.

So he does. He lets her know what he’s afraid of, where she’s concerned. They continue making dinner - which is really mostly her cooking and him tasting things and making garlic bread because he’s good at it and she likes it. She admits maybe she’s underestimating how big a deal this’ll be, how famous he is. She says it’s hard to parse this, him in jeans and a white tee shirt in her kitchen, with the guy whose performance in this film that’s about to be released is getting Oscar buzz. Which makes sense.

And then they talk about his leaving. The fact that he’s gone off to film again soon, all the way in Vancouver this time. They’d already sorted a schedule and he’ll be back in New York every few weeks because of it, but it’s definitely different from how things have been while he’s been prepping and just doing whatever press he can do from New York, which is a lot.

After dinner, when he’s doing the dishes, he hears Allie on FaceTime with her sister in the living room. She says, “I have something to tell you before you hear it on Jimmy Fallon, or something,” which makes him laugh, because he’s literally scheduled to be on the show two days from now.

She waves him over after he’s done cleaning up, and he leans down behind Allie so he’s in the frame, and waves, and feels so fucking nervous that Cassandra’s going to look at him like he’s some kind of monster.

She’s just smiling and shaking her head and saying, “Hi, Harry,” and so it feels like this is going a little better than he expected.

… … …

He does the birthday stuff, too. He just slips through back entrances and doesn’t sit too close to her, which is harder than it should be. People take photos or whatever, and ask him if he’ll pose with them. It’s annoying and takes away from her evening, but her friends don’t really seem to care. Maybe that’s because he is, in fact, paying for everything. And two of her friends are Sam and Grizz, who’ve known about Harry and Allie longer than literally anyone else.

In the car at the end of the night, Allie turns her head to look at him and he thinks she’s about to tell him she loves him, but he thinks, also, that she realizes this isn’t how she wants that to happen.

… … …

(How it happens, instead, is he’s packing to leave and she’s lying across his bed eating chips and salsa and wearing one of his shirts and these black underwear he loves on her.

And how it happens is she says something about taking this shirt home with her whether he likes it or not, and he says, “I love you,” and she says it back.)

… … …

She is super excited to be in West Ham for Thanksgiving, and Harry is not at all excited about it, and he thinks it’s taken til now for her to fully understand that they have really, incredibly different family dynamics. Like, he showed her a post he saw once that said _”The second you say ‘family group chat’ I know we are not the same”_ and it was kind of a joke, but also pretty serious.

He stays with her family at her house because his mom doesn’t really give a fuck as long as he makes an appearance at the town’s harvest tea, or whatever they’re calling it. Allie’s mom, on the other hand, pushes back their Thanksgiving dinner by an hour to make sure he can do the tea and the Pressman dinner, and he just…

“Thank you,” he tells her in the kitchen when she’s pulling everything together and he’d offered to help. He’s whisking gravy and it’s just the two of them, and Amanda - she’s asked him to call her Amanda - puts her hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, and gives him a kind smile he’s pretty sure Allie inherited directly from her.

She says, “Of course, honey,” and then asks him to pass her the oven mitts.

There’s something about the easy way this whole family seems to just...do the right thing to make the people around them feel good. It’s kind of new and different for him, and when Allie comes in to get more mulled wine, she kisses his cheek at the stove and calls him a sucker for getting talked into doing the worst Thanksgiving task there is. He really doesn’t mind.

Someone from West Ham posts a picture of them - of him and Allie - kissing at the bakery when they go to pick up cinnamon buns in the morning to go with breakfast because this is yet another tradition. It’s totally ridiculous, because they’re just in line waiting for their turn, and Allie tips her head back like she does when she wants him to kiss her, and so he does.

His publicist calls him within the hour, and Jim’s laughing at how quickly this has all blown up. Allie just says she thinks she looks good in the picture, and Harry…

Harry tells his publicist he doesn't care, and then ends up posting a picture of one of the cinnamon buns with Allie’s hand - her nails polished dark blue - reaching in to steal a bite. He captions it, _Really good cinnamon buns. Ignore the thief_.

When they’re in bed at night and the light’s on because she’s reading and he’s supposed to be doing the same but is really just staring at the ceiling, he can’t help that he smiles and then turns to look at her. She asks, “What?” without looking away from her book, but she’s grinning a little, too, and finally glances at him when his fingers drift over her underwear at her hip.

“I had this fantasy when we were younger,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes and gently pushes his hand away and goes back to her book. It’s funny, so he laughs. “This goal of getting you to invite me to your room.”

She turns her page. “I didn’t invite you. You just assumed it was okay.”

He chuckles again despite really wanting her to pay attention to him and not her novel. His hand goes back to her skin, skims up her side, over the tattoo he’s literally the only person in the world who knows is there.

He grins. “Keep ignoring me,” he tells her. “Really helping give the authentic teenage experience.”

She finally rests her book beside her and looks at him, glares a little. “Would you cut it out?” He can tell she likes it more than she’s letting on, because her eyes are lit up a little like they get when she’s trying not to give in and actually admit he’s funny. “You’re not being nearly enough of an asshole for this to be authentic for me.” He rolls his eyes. He wasn’t _that much_ of an asshole. And he wasn’t an asshole to her. “Not doing enough to make me feel conflicted about how hot I think you are.”

His brow goes up and he moves onto his side, lets his hand move across her stomach and leans in to press kisses to her neck. She breathes his name, which sounds exactly as good as it always does, and then her hand comes up to rest on his bicep, which he also likes, until she pushes.

“I am not having sex when my parents are just down the hall,” she says, which makes him laugh against her skin and pull back a little, lips brushing her shoulder. “We’re not _actually_ teenagers.”

She turns onto her side so her back’s to him, and he cuts the light off and situates himself behind her.

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, just lets the absolute quiet of this stupid small town surround them.

But then he says, “If I’d known I’d eventually convince you to let me into your bed, I’d have been even more insufferable.”

“Hard to imagine.”

He grins, slips the tips of his fingers into the front of her underwear, just below the band there, and feels the breath she sucks in. “Try.”

“Oh, my god, Harry,” she says, a little annoyed but also laughing. She elbows him gently, then pushes his hand away and says, “You don’t have to be so smug, you know.”

“Mm. Think I’m gonna be anyway.” She laughs quietly again, takes a deep breath. “Getting the girl will do that to you.”

She slips her fingers between his on her hip. That feels like a win, too.

“At least do it quietly so I can sleep.”

Harry smiles, says goodnight, kisses the back of her shoulder. She squeezes his hand, but seconds later, turns to kiss him on the mouth and tell him she loves him.

… … …

He can tell she’s super nervous as they pull up in the car and she smoothes her dress down over her thighs and takes some deep breaths. He tells her again she looks incredible, because honestly he thinks she’s maybe the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. He takes her hand to help her out of the car, and there are too many flashes, which he sort of warned her about. Considering this is her first time, she takes it all in stride, puts on a pretty smile and then stands next to him with perfect posture as their photos are taken on this red carpet. He leans over halfway through to check in on how she’s doing, and she tips her head back, smile firmly in place, and says, “This is miserable. I don’t know why this is a thing,” and Harry laughs and kisses her as a hundred camera flashes go off.

They’re pulled to the side for an interview, and the person says Allie looks gorgeous, asks where her dress is from, says her necklace is stunning. Harry smiles and stays out of the way, lets her receive these compliments. Allie put this look together with his stylist’s support and it’s honestly a big deal that people like it.

“You two look so good together. You’ve gotta dish on how you met.”

Harry looks at her as if to ask what version of the story she wants them to tell. She blinks and then raises a brow.

“It was a cold night in Chicago,” he says, and then Allie’s laughing sweetly and saying they went to high school together.

Once they’re inside and have found their seats, she loops her arm together with his and reminds him, “The fact that you all do this just to be able to go get In ‘N Out after is kind of ridiculous.”

Stanley Tucci is in front of them, lets out a little laugh and turns around to smile at her. They introduce themselves and chat a bit and then, when Stanley turns back around, Allie looks at Harry with an expression that asks how the hell this is his life.

In all the articles, and all the tweets, people are talking about how good they look and how pretty she is and how her dress is gorgeous and whatever. The Twitter discourse around them also seems to be general disappointment that he’s really actually not single, but that he looks happy. There’s a lot of stuff in the vein of _get you a man who looks at you the way Harry looks at this girl_.

Allie laughs at the comments on one of the Instagram posts she sees. She reads them out loud when he gets out of the shower and has a towel around his hips.

“Harry Bingham is really off the market and idk what to do now because stanning that asshole was whole personality,” she reads, which makes him laugh. Then there’s, “Harry dating a normal girl means there’s hope for the rest of us who sit at home in our sweats in the dark and never go any fucking where right?”

“My fans are comedians,” he says, and Allie’s having _way_ too much fun.

“This one’s my favourite.” She gets onto her knees, brings her phone over to show him the screen, but reads it anyway. “The only reason I don’t say I’m a lesbian is because of Harry Bingham in the right lighting and no one can take that from me. Not even his girlfriend, who is so hot I wanna cry.”

“I like this one,” he says, pointing to the one below it. “Harry Bingham is the luckiest motherfucker on the planet, I swear to god?”

She tosses her phone onto the bed and puts her arms around him. “You’re pretty lucky.” He glances down at her, and he just nods, because yeah, he’s pretty lucky.

… … …

She moves in with him when her lease is up, just in time to help him run lines for the biggest role he’s landed, this film adaptation of a super popular book that’ll test his range and show people what he can do. He knows he can handle it - he knows what he’s about - but there’re already questions on whether or not he can manage the role.

When he figures out what he wants to do with the biggest monologue in the script, he delivers it while Allie’s sitting on the sofa, and it’s not perfect but she cries anyway, which is sort of the whole point of this scene.

She stands, takes his face in her hands and kisses him.

“You’re so good at this,” she says all quietly, like she really wants him to hear the compliment and take it seriously.

He says, “Thanks,” and she takes a deep breath and then wipes her face and laughs at herself. Harry puts his arms around her and then asks if he can try it again. She calls him a showoff, but sits back down on the sofa and gestures for him to proceed.


End file.
